


just let me hold you

by thoseguitarists



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom Niall, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Painplay, Narry - Freeform, Slut Shaming, Smut, Top Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 16:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9828653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoseguitarists/pseuds/thoseguitarists
Summary: “I can’t sleep, Harry.” Niall sighs through the receiver, prolonged and holding a bit more emotion than just the anger at not being able to rest. “I’ve been laying around for hours in bed and the stupid storm outside won’t let me rest.”Harry hums contentedly as he stirs the noodles in the pot of water; snacking on pasta at midnight is his guilty pleasure. “If you can’t sleep…” he begins, suggestively, reaching up to turn the stove off; he reckons he can have spaghetti tomorrow night, would rather eat Niall for a midnight snack, “…we could have sex?”It’s silent for a moment, as it always is when Harry brings this topic up, and then ― “I’ll pick you up in ten.”Harry smiles. “I’ll be ready, baby. Be careful.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Genuine, genuine smut. I've no idea where it came from.

“I want to ride your cock till I can’t stand anymore,” Niall says, presses the words against Harry’s ear as he locks the door, and his cheeks are flushed red, flushed pink, and he’s scratching at his thighs with the need to get off, to get Harry inside of him. “I want to have you in me so deep it’s all I can feel and I want you to fill me up and then… and then eat it out of me and make me come just from that, just from your mouth.”

And Harry thinks this is crazy, ridiculous, this game he and Niall have been playing since the hiatus started nearly a year and a half ago. It was all because Niall looked so fucking good at the party after their X Factor performance in his suit, all manly and thick, and a quick blowie in the toilet turned into an exclusive friends with benefits relationship neither are in any hurry to destroy. And not a little off the wall, but a lot off the wall, so much so that Harry’s breath catches in his lungs every time he thinks of the fun times he has with Niall, ducking away from paparazzi and meeting in random hotel rooms if they can’t risk their houses and waking up freshly fucked with suckled bruises all over his skin that he has to hide when he goes out with friends.

They were dancing, tiptoeing around this ― this _thing_ ― for a long time. Goes back, way back to when they were teenagers and Harry was trying to explain to Niall in a furious whisper across the corridor that separated their bunks on the tour bus as the other three lads slept just what it felt like to have your face shoved into a chest of soft tits and Niall asked Harry to talk him to an orgasm like he did once in Mullingar when he went for a bit and yeah, it was only a matter of time, really, but Harry’s shocked it’s taken this long, surprised it’s gone this far.

It’s definitely something he never expected, but. He likes it. A lot.

“That it?” he asks, raises a brow; he turns the lock on the bedroom door and grabs Niall’s thrumming body by the hips, keeps him still. His eyes are bright in the light above, so blue and deep and beautiful. “That’s all you want?”

Niall shakes his head, furiously, and tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, bites down on the plumpness so hard a splash of red forms around his mouth and Harry groans because he knows that’s the same color as the head of his pretty, pretty cock.

“You just want to ride my cock, just want to have me fill you up?” Harry tries again, tries to prompt Niall to explain to him just what it is that he wants; he walks them backward, toward the large bed in the middle of the room, navy blue covers and pillows all askew, and shoves Niall to sit on the foot of it, knees his legs apart so Harry can admire the hard bulge in his tight, tight jeans. “Jesus fucking Christ, Ni, I can let you ride my cock till you come and then push you on your tummy and shove your faces into the bed and fuck you till you come again. And again.”

Niall nods, hums, finds one of Harry’s hands with both of his and brings it to his face; he’s hot, burning up, and Harry would think he had a fever if he didn’t _know_.

“Yes, please,” he says, pants the plea against the tips of Harry’s fingers, all soft and electric. “I want you to do that, Harry, so badly.” He kisses Harry’s fingertips, gets them just a little wet but not near enough; he’s glad he shoved a few travel-sized bottles of lube in his pocket before Niall picked him up a few minutes ago because he’s fairly sure they used all of Niall’s stash up. “And then I can suck you off till you come down my throat, get you so soft in my mouth that I can take you all the way in and then do it again.”  

“What do you want first, petal? Huh?” Harry combs his free hand through Niall’s shower-damp hair and grips a large chunk, pulls just hard enough to make Niall wince. “Tell me what you want to do first, Niall.”

“I ― I want you to tell me to get naked and then watch me finger myself open first and tell me how to do it like you do.”

Harry wets his lips, brings his knee up to grind it against Niall’s hard prick. “Reckon I could slip a few fingers in beside yours, too,” he says, muses, and Niall’s mouth drops open in a quiet whimper of pleasure and Harry sticks his thumb inside, behind Niall’s teeth and beneath Niall’s tongue, and presses down hard. “You’d like that, too, wouldn’t you? Always wantin’, always begging me to go deeper and deeper and deeper. Never satisfied till it hurts, are ya? Little slut, always wanting more.”

Niall shakes his head hard; a bit of spit dribbles out of his mouth and falls down his chin, lands on the thigh of Harry’s pant leg and darkens the blue jean material. “P’ease, Harry,” he begs, and he’s desperate, wet for it, hard for it, and Harry uses the hold he’s got on Niall’s mouth to pull him up, to get him to stand. “I ‘ant it.”

“Strip.” Harry takes his thumb out of Niall’s mouth, puts it in his and sucks Niall’s spit from the pad of this finger. It’s sweet. “Strip and finger yourself open. I want to watch.”

Niall nods, mumbles all sorts of praises under his breath as he begins to tear at his shirt, ripping it over his head and undoing his belt, his button, his zipper, shoving his jeans and underwear down his legs and stepping out of the puddle of clothing at his feet. His dick’s sticking out, hard and red and wet and pink and fragrant, weeping with the need to be touched, to be stimulated, and Harry bends at the knees and holds Niall’s hips still as he licks the head, blows on the tip, admires the pulsing vein, and Niall hisses, backs away from Harry’s barely-there touch with a yelp that rings out heavily in the bedroom.

“I don’t want to come without you in me, Harry.”

Harry smiles and moves to stand back up; he fishes the small bottles of lube from his pockets and tosses them at Niall, who catches them with ease and an adorable smile. “Finger yourself open for me, petal,” he says, sitting down on the foot of the bed and spreading his legs, mirroring the exact position Niall was in moments before. “Balance yourself with that chair and watch yourself in the mirror as you do it, too. May even help you get wide later if you do everything I say like the good little slut I know you are.”

Niall nods again, would never tell Harry no when it comes to something like this, something he wants just as much, and pushes the clothes on the chair off and to the floor; he picks it up, small that it is, and sits it in front of the full-bodied mirror he’s got hanging on his wall, puts one leg on the seat and keeps the other on the ground and lubes his four fingers of his left hand up, spilling a bit on the ground.

He arches his back, leans forward a bit and bends his knee to steady himself as he reaches behind himself with both hands, one to spread his ass and the other to smear slick around his hole before pushing inside, just inside, with his index finger.

“Oh, Harry.”

Niall’s forehead tips, hits the mirror; he opens his mouth as he pushes his finger in further, shuts his eyes as he begins to open his tight, tight hole up for Harry’s impending entrance. He’s absolutely fucking _dripping_ for it; Harry can see the precum dropping to the floor and it makes him want to howl.

“Open your eyes, Niall,” Harry commands, a bit hoarse, and lays the palm of his right hand over his prick, uses the heel to press against the hardness in hopes it will satisfy the primal hunger that’s itching at the back of his mind. He wants to come, but he wants Niall to come first. As always. “I want to watch you watch yourself.”

Niall does as he’s told, opens his eyes and stands up as straight as he can; the lights in the room are bright and brilliant, and Harry meets Niall’s gaze in the mirror as he moves one finger in and out, in and out, in and out, so slow and so hard and so deep and so hot and so good, so much like Harry does it.  

“I wish it was you, Harry.”

Harry slants his head to the side, gives Niall the sexiest smirk he can muster ― which, mind you, isn’t very sexy at all, but. It’s the thought that counts, and Niall’s never had any sort of protest about Harry’s attempts at being sultry.

“It will be soon, Ni,” he replies, chuckles low in his throat as he watches a shudder spread all across Niall’s body that mirrors in his own. “Now, add another, love. I know you can take it.”

He does as he’s told, Niall, and adds another finger on the next move in; it’s tight at first, just a bit, and Harry feels a pang in his chest because he’s not been fucking Niall properly at all for the last few months, unfortunately, what with both of them working on solo albums, after all, but soon he’s loose enough to start scissoring his digits and Harry doesn’t even need to tell him to add a third. He does that on his own, curls his fingers to play with his prostate, eliciting a few mewls of slick sensation that hits Harry’s cock first and then his heart.

“How many do you want me to use, Harry?”

Harry’s throat is dry and he’s pressing so hard on his aching cock beneath the crotch of his jeans that it’s borderline painful but he likes it, likes it a lot. “Four,” he replies in a rasp so thick it hurts his chest and makes his throat raw. “I want you to use four.”

“I ― I don’t know if ―”

“You can,” Harry cuts Niall off, grins, shakes his head and stands up and makes his way to Niall. “I know you can. Do it.”

Niall nods and pulls in a deep, deep breath; he places his fourth finger at his entrance, wriggles it in beside the first three and it takes a moment, you know, to get everything right, but soon he’s got all of them in and he’s making noises, groaning and whimpering and crying and whining and moaning, and Harry walks up behind him, puts both of his hands on Niall’s ass to spread his cheeks so he can get a better look.

It’s hot, so hot. Watching Niall finger himself big, wide; his fingers aren’t small and he’s got slick shining all over his entire backside and Harry can smell the musk of it all, of precum and sweat and man and lube, and he digs his nails into Niall’s fleshy ass, praying for a tether to keep him from flying far, far away.

“Spank me.”

Harry blinks. “Huh?”

Niall turns his head, looks over his shoulder; his face is red and his eyes are all pupil and his mouth is wet with spit and Harry wants to lick it up, wants to be dirty. “Spank me, Harry,” he says, again, and the clench in Harry’s thighs is so hard it makes him flinch; they’ve done this before, a few times, and there’s never any guarantee how long Niall will last when he’s stimulated on every front, pleasure and pain. It’s a wonderful surprise each time. “Please.”

“Okay, baby.” Harry swallows and takes one hand off of Niall’s ass, brings it back and then smacks it forward; the sound of flesh on flesh permeates the air and Niall’s gasp of pleasure/pain is followed with Harry’s inhale of sharp sensation. “Anything you want.”

He does it again, smacks Niall’s ass. Again and again and again, so many times that his palm is stinging and Niall’s cheek is painted in a rosy color of red, one that’s quickly becoming Harry’s favorite hue. He switches to the other cheek, then, and spanks more, more, more, and when Niall’s whimpering, nearly sobbing with it as he continues to fuck himself, he sticks his hand down and cups Niall’s heavy balls, fondles them in the palm of his hand as Niall lazily, indolently shoves himself back on his fingers.

“You can come like this, can’t you?” Harry asks, out of breath and extremely weighted as he cradles Niall’s balls, as he drags the tip of his blunt fingernail along Niall’s perineum hard enough to rip out a cry of shock and sensation. “Just fucking yourself on your fingers while I touch your balls, huh? Don’t even need to have your cock touched, little slut. Can just come from this, eh?”

Niall nods. “I can, yeah,” he replies, wrecked and wounded, and his voice is riddled with a desperation to come, to hit the end of his line and come all over the mirror and floor and Harry’s hand.

“Do you want to?”

“No.” Niall shakes his head, looks over his shoulder at Harry with pleading eyes and a soft smile that makes him absolutely shine like every single star in the sky. “I want to come with you.”

Harry grunts, removes his hand from Niall’s balls. “Good,” he says, deep and thick, and swats Niall’s thigh with one of his hands, prompts him to take his leg off of the chair; he does so, Niall, and Harry grabs the chair, fixes it so it’s in front of the mirror perfectly before attacking his button and zip, pushing his jeans just far enough down his thighs to get his cock out, glad he ignored the underwear he had laying up on the counter of his bathroom after his shower. He sits on the chair, pats his thighs, grabs Niall’s hips to back him up. “Sit on my lap, love, and ride me till you come.”

Niall makes a high-pitched noise in the back of his throat and bends down for the bottle of lube he didn’t use; Harry takes it from him, squirts all of it out in one of his hands and slicks his dick up so much the stuff slips between his legs and gets him all sticky, all greasy, all wet. He and Niall will definitely have to shower after this.

He loves it.

“C’mon, petal. It won’t hurt any ― you fucked yourself open enough on your fingers to take me, and even then I know you love the burn.”

Niall slowly, slowly walks backward, has to press his thighs together as he stars to bend at the knees; Harry keeps one hand on Niall’s hips, keeps the other on the base of his cock to hold himself still as Niall sinks down, down, down, and it’s hot and wet and slick and he bottoms out with a noiseless quake of nerves that shakes Niall’s body so hard he cries out in abrupt stimulation.

“Harry ―”

“Watch yourself.” Harry wraps one arm around Niall’s waist, wraps the other around Niall’s chest and keeps him close, keeps their bodies flushed. “Watch yourself bounce on my cock like a little slut till you make yourself come. Use me, Niall.”

Niall whines, nods, begins to circle and swivel his hips, undulating on Harry’s lap slowly, hotly, because he likes the build-up, and Harry’s hold on him tightens as he gasps with the pleasure of being clenched, of being squeezed and milked so good, so good. His entire body is enflamed and he wants to feel this heat in his chest for the rest of his life.

“Oh, fuck, Harry,” Niall hisses, is able to say through gyrated teeth that grind together like their bodies. “You’re so big, so thick. Fuck, you fill me up so well.”

“Yeah?” Harry presses his forehead into Niall’s shoulder, opens his mouth and smears his lips across Niall’s back; his skin tastes like soap and man and sweat, one of the best flavors Harry’s ever had, second only to Niall’s jizz. He loves every single taste Niall gives him. “Fill my little slut up so good, don’t I?”

“So good, Harry, so good.”

“Gonna get you all nice and full with my cum, too, later on,” Harry continues, etches the words into Niall’s skin as if they’re ink and his tongue is a tattoo gun. He puts his feet on the floor, steadies his stance and begins to thrust upward; he catches Niall’s undulation movements off guard and shreds them to pieces as he fucks up into Niall’s swollen, weeping hole that’s soon to be dripping with Harry’s jizz, if he can’t hold on to his sanity. “Fill you up so nice that it drips out of you, and then I’ll lick it up, get it in my mouth and kiss you and we’ll share it and do it all over again when it’s gone.”

Niall’s body pitches and he tries to lurch forward, tries to get out of Harry’s grasp as Harry fucks him up, fucks him good. “Oh, please, Harry ― oh please oh please oh please,” he says, whines, over and over and over till it’s a mess of mangled words that have adhered together to become a mumble of incoherent praise and idolizing phrases of total approval and appreciation. “I wanna ― I wanna… I wanna come, Harry.”

“My little slut is wanting to come already, is he?” Harry asks, hisses, and he bites Niall’s shoulder, hard, cackles at the howl of split-second pain Niall echoes after a moan, and smirks to himself when he pulls back to see the mark he’s left. He’s only possessive, only dominant when it comes to Niall, as odd as that may sound ― it was never like this with Kendall, with Nick, with Caroline, with all the other partners he’s had. Only Niall. And maybe that’s why Niall is his favorite. “My little slut thinks he’s ready to come? Does he deserve to come?”

Harry loosens his grip and Niall falls forward, puts his hands on Harry’s knees and throws a look over his shoulder at Harry in desperation. “Please, Harry,” he whimpers, whispers, and he’s pouting, has folded his bottom lip up in his mouth to bite down on it. “Please let your little slut come.”

“Work for it.” Harry removes his hands completely from Niall’s body, folds them behind his head and smiles, smirks; his shirt is damp with sweat and lube, sticking to his chest, and it’s an uncomfortable itch on his neck that he makes no move to touch because it reminds him to not come, keeps him from coming. “Fuck yourself on my cock and make yourself come, petal. I want to see you go insane with it.”

Niall makes a strangled, pitiful noise in the back of his throat and nods, restlessly, and drops his head as he undulates his hips, as he starts to slowly rise up, to quickly drop back down. The sound of smacking skin, ass and thighs, infiltrates the air and Harry wets his lips, bites his tongue as he watches his cock disappear between Niall’s cheeks, find a home inside of Niall.

It’s one of the most erotic sights he’s ever seen before. Niall’s ass is eating Harry’s cock like that’s what it was made for, like they were made for each other. It’s fucking hot, something Harry knows is going to benefit him when the two of them are all over the world and far, far away from each other’s touch.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking hot, Niall.” Harry grunts, throws his head back and groans as loud as he can; his back is prickling, itching from the feel of being squeezed, of being milked, and he wants to come so bad, wants to see Niall come so bad. “My little slut knows just how to be sexy, knows just what to do to make me go wild. Fuck, I’m so glad I ― I’m so glad it’s you, Niall. So glad.”

“Uh ― Harry ―” and then Niall’s coming, suddenly, and it’s a messy few squirts of cum that dirties the mirror and lands on the ground and stains the pant legs of Harry’s jeans, gets them soiled, and Harry has to bite down so hard on his bottom lip that he nearly draws blood to keep himself from coming because ― because he wants to come down Niall’s throat, wants to gag Niall with his cock and watch him cry.

When Niall’s jittery aftershocks stop, Harry gently slaps at his thighs and urges him off; he stands on wobbly legs, spins and meets Harry’s gaze with bloodshot eyes that are more pupil than color. His face is red and the top of his chest matches the color of his cheeks; he’s got a bit of cum smeared on his tummy and thighs and he looks so fucking delicious even though he’s already nearly fucked out. He doesn’t cover up, either, doesn’t try to hide himself from Harry, and Harry loves how they can be vulnerable with each other and nothing changes.

It’s… good. It’s nice. It’s something Harry doesn’t want to ever take for granted.

Harry wets his lips, grabs the base of his cock and arches a brow. “Don’t just stand there, petal,” he teases, chuckles as Niall blinks in confusion, bewilderment. He’s so goddamn cute and Harry’s never, ever thought that about somebody before after fucking them into near oblivion. Niall can barely stand, for fuck’s sake ― he looks like a newborn yearling and Harry’s never been so turned on. “Suck my cock and make me come like the good little slut I know you are.”

It’s immediate as Niall drops to his knees, a bit too rough for Harry’s liking, and scoots closer, puts his hand on Harry’s thighs as he levels himself up to face Harry’s cock; he’s probably going to have carpet burns after tonight, something that will be absolute hell for Niall but heaven for Harry.

Niall flicks his gaze up, meets Harry’s eyes. “I love doing this,” he says, whispery-soft and wrecked, broken; he flutters his lashes, something he tends to do when he’s soft and coming down from an intense high, and it makes Harry’s heart stutter completely in his chest. “I love doing this with you.”

He smiles, then, and leans down to wrap his lips around the tip of Harry’s cock. It’s a shock to him, to his system, and he digs his nails into his thighs to remind himself to stay calm, to stay still, because Niall’s still not the best at sucking cock, at bringing Harry off with his mouth, but gosh he’s good, so good, and Harry would rather have this ― this feeling, this rawness, this emotion ― than knowledge and skill.

“You’re so pretty with your lips wrapped ‘round my cock, petal,” Harry says, forces himself to say; the more he talks, the longer he’ll last, and he’s afraid he’s about to blow his load down Niall’s throat before an entire minute is up. “God, you’re so ― you’re so fucking beautiful, baby. So fucking beautiful.”

Niall giggles a bit, just a bit, and it vibrates the head of Harry’s cock, stimulates the sensitive slit just enough that he feels a quick squirt of precum leak out, drip down the length ― and Niall takes his mouth off the head, chases the dribble with his tongue, and Harry’s coming before he knows it, absolutely dirtying Niall’s brown hair with his jizz as he cries out from low in the back of his throat.

Niall licks him through his orgasm, takes extra care and caution to keep it going for as long as he can; Harry’s winded and lethargic when it’s over and he reaches for Niall as if he would otherwise drown, pulls him off the ground and onto his lap, into his arms, and presses their lips together. Niall’s lips are swollen and wet and his mouth tastes like skin and cum and Harry moans as an aftershock of remembrance and pleasure runs through his body.

He pulls away, lays his head on Niall’s shoulder. “I don’t want it to be with anybody but you ever again, Niall,” he announces, whispers, and he doesn’t exactly know what he’s trying to do, what he’s trying to say, but they can figure it out together tomorrow, in the morning, when they have each other’s touch and feel and taste and smell engraved into one another’s skin. No amount of scrubbing will ever get them out from beneath each other’s flesh. “Nobody but you.”

“I like that idea,” Niall replies, and Harry can hear the laugh in his voice as he brings his hand up, as he combs his fingers through Harry’s sweaty, curling hair; it’s grown quite a bit in the last few months since filming wrapped up and he’s pleasantly surprised to see that he’s going to have his curls again, after all. He loves them, remembers how much Niall loved them. “Now, are you ready for round two yet or should I let you rest?”

Harry chortles, cackles into Niall’s chest and presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss to his clavicle. “Let me catch my breath first, petal,” he replies, already thrumming at the thought of bending Niall over the chair and fucking him good, so good, filling him up and then licking it out and making him come again. “We’ve got all the time in the world to fuck. Just let me hold you for a while.”

**Author's Note:**

> Could be turned into something more, probably won't.


End file.
